Rabbit: January 1970
Title: Rabbit
Chapter Number/Title: January 1970: Lunch (35/100) [[ Previous | Next]
Rating: G
Word Count: 2021
Workshop?: Always!
January 16, 1970
Lunch
“Not worried,” Angelique Lestrange clarified, in a tone so hushed that Rabastan strained to hear. “Cautious. Hopeful, but cautious.”
Druella Black nodded, and her blonde curls bounced and glimmered in the bright winter sunlight. “Of course.” Her silvery voice dropped further. “Try two headstrong daughters. I would trade you, to be quite honest.”
Rabastan listened as his mother chuckled audibly. “Oh, Ella, you have done a wonderful job. I would not even know where to start!”
Druella’s voice was barely a murmur. “I don’t know. Andromeda - ”
Her quiet confession was cut short as the flames in the fireplace rose several feet into the air in a dramatic green blaze, and then fell to a simmer as Viola Avery emerged. Rabastan politely set down his teacup and stood as she handed off her coats to an Elf.
As much as he adored Maman, Rabastan was less than thrilled about being forced to sit through luncheons with her witch friends. Sometimes, if Aunt Viola were coming and bringing Darren, they would let the boys have their own boy-luncheon. Those were not so bad. They were good, even. But today, Viola had come bearing bad news: “I am sorry, little Rabbit darling, but Darren’s off with Darius and Evan Rosier for the afternoon.” Rabastan knew what that meant. It meant he would have no allies in the upcoming battle against womanly silliness. Viola, kind as she was, was Chief Enemy Number One in this situation.
Chief Enemy Number Two, Rabastan concluded despite himself, was Druella Black. She was absolute loveliness, and Rabastan was always pleased to see her, but she was also an ace at drawing Maman into the dullest conversations. And to make it worse, Druella did bring Cissy along. Cissy was Chief Enemy Number Three, only so harmless in rank due to her status as a child at the table.
Finally was Maman herself, Chief Enemy Number Four - though, Rabastan reflected, her power to avert the entire affair or send her son off to a more interesting luncheon might earn her a higher rank.
“I just came from the wildest shopping rendezvous,” Viola said, taking a seat. “A glass of whatever our hostess is having,” she added off-hand to the Elf nearby.
“In London?” asked Angelique.
“Quite. I ran into Rosalina, and ap-par-ently, Tristan’s got himself in quite a mess.”
Druella let out a small huff of disbelief. “As if Rosalina has any place to pity Tristan,” she said into her glass.
“Well, even if everyone remembers what happened five years ago, it was five years ago,” said Viola.
“Of course!” Angelique jumped in. “Still, three weeks before the wedding. Such a scandal.”
Viola shrugged. “I cannot say I wouldn’t have done the same myself.”
With a flurry of magic, the space transformed, and the lunching party now made their way to sit around a small square table with a tall luncheon tray and five settings. Rabastan, as he had been taught, stood attentively while the four witches (three and a half, he thought) sat. As the chairs smoothly pulled themselves in, he took his own seat - on the fourth side of the table, doubling with Cissy. This could hardly get worse.
“Nevertheless,” Viola continued, “There’s no bad blood between them. Rosalina preferred Tristan, but he understands that her parents would push her to choose a Flint over a Podmore. Though now he’s finding himself in an unenviable position.”
Rabastan sipped soup from his spoon, and then placed the silver down with the quietest clink. His mother picked up her glass and drank during Viola’s dramatic pause. Druella waited patiently with an arched brow. Cissy had not touched her food, and her brown eyes were open wide, as if they could somehow drink in the information.
“You recall the business with Deirdre?”
“How could we not!” Druella’s hand leapt to her heart in sympathy. “That Scottish boor she married let her think she was barren and let her undergo all manners of treatment, and then divorced her like it was nothing, because she couldn’t give him children.”
“That would be another matter altogether,” noted Angelique, “if he had not known fully that he had been under a curse of childlessness from his former paramour.”
“I suppose so,” said Druella. Rabastan had already forgotten who was being discussed, but her defeated tone made him feel a bit guilty for having lost count. “But he did. Remarried, still was heirless, and then went to find a cursebreaker to help him. Meanwhile, Deirdre bore a daughter not three years later, just as soon as she had stopped the treatments with the Healers!”
“Precisely.” Viola stirred the last of her soup absent-mindedly, clearly thrilled by the tales. “But of course that news came just days after they took in their godson Titus.”
“From a drought to a monsoon,” chimed Angelique, as the soups vanished and sandwiches appeared in their place.
“This is the news.” Viola declared it with a gleam in her eye, and auburn locks fell around her face as she leaned in toward the table. Rabastan took as large of a bite as politeness would allow, and made a wish that the news would signal a new conversation topic. “Deirdre’s been concerned for years now that neither Sinead nor Titus have been interested in courtship and settling down… Well. Only last week, Titus comes to his parents, with Sinead, if it weren’t improper enough, and announces - not asks, but announces - their intention to marry.”
Rabastan coughed, nearly choking on his oversized bite. He looked to the women to verify that he had just heard what he thought. Indeed, Maman’s lips had gone quite thin, as they had when Rabastan had told a particularly unconvincing lie or Rodolphus admitted that Bellatrix had burnt the hems of his robes in dueling practice. Cissy looked delighted, like she had just been gifted with a dozen new dress-gowns. Druella’s eyes showed her shock, and Rabastan could not help but notice their enchanting hazel-brown color, and the dramatic length of the lashes that framed them. Her hand covered her mouth, but he could still make out the astonished “o” of her pink lips. Maybe this visit would be manageable enough, if he just watched Mrs. Black.
“But she’s his sister,” said Druella, breaking the silence and lowering her hand. She shook her head in disbelief. “A cousin, that’s one thing. But a brother should be a brother. I couldn’t imagine being married to Darius.”
Viola laughed - and if Angelique’s laughter sounded like rich bells and Druella’s sounded like the gentle chimes, Viola’s laughter was the bubbling of a brook. “I adore Darius, darling, but I think only one witch could imagine being married to your brother, and she’s gone from this world.”
Druella nodded. “Yes, but you understand. A brother - or cousin, if a woman has no brother - is to support and protect her if her marriage goes awry or she is widowed. You would want that of your own family. Neither of you have daughters, but I could only rest knowing that, should little Cissy here marry a deceiver who waits to reveal his true colors until we pass, Sirius would flatten him in an instant. If you lose that, then what?”
“I would help,” Rabastan offered, before quickly realizing that that definitely qualified as speaking out of turn. “Excuse me,” he said into his sandwich.
Angelique shot him a hint of a glare and immediately softened. “Rabastan, did you have something to add?”
“No, ma’am. I only meant to say that, if Narcissa or her sisters were in trouble, I would help them.”
“I am sure Bellatrix could manage it herself,” said Angelique. Rabastan thought he caught a momentary exchange - a small smirk from his mother and a flash of a rolled eye from Mrs. Black.
“How sweet of you, Rabbit,” said Druella with a smile. “Cissy should be grateful to have such good friends.” Narcissa seemed to be many things at that instant, and “grateful” was not one. Her nose was scrunched as far into her face as a nose could go, and her eyes were narrowed into menacing coin slots. Rabastan thought of retracting his offer, seeing the thanks he was getting - not to mention that as he thought through the situation, it was taking place in a world where Cissy’s evil husband was Sirius, and Rabastan was fairly certain that in that divide, his loyalty was spoken for already. But Mrs. Black had called him sweet for it, and he was not going to throw that away for a hypothetical.
Angelique shook her head. “But what I do not understand, is how does a mother not notice her own children are a romantic item? Godson or not, they live in her house.”
“They did, and then they lived at Hogwarts, and then they went on their Grand Tour,” said Viola. “The romance of the Italian coast must have caught them. I do love Amalfi.”
“Viola, dear,” Druella interjected. “What will Deirdre do?”
“Oh, yes, that’s how I heard. According to Rosalina, Tristan was approached about marrying Sinead. They mean to hide this boggart back under the carpet and find acceptable matches for each of them immediately.”
“Not much of a carpet if Rosalina knows about it,” said Angelique.
“Really!” Druella dusted the sandwich crumbs off her fingers.
“Well,” Viola reasoned, “Sinead and Titus have been quite eager to undermine any hope of keeping it quiet. They’re young, you know, and got it into their heads that any result other than their intended one is a grave injustice.”
“Naturally.” Angelique raised her finger, and Taddy, the attending Elf, replaced the sandwich remains with small chocolate soufflés.
Druella picked up her spoon and beamed at the other women. “Well, of all problems, at least it’s not one any of us will confront.”
“Or let our children get away with!” Angelique added.
“What would you do in her place?” Viola waved her hands. “I can’t even imagine!”
Angelique narrowed her eyes in thought.
“Assuming Cygnus had not already knocked sense into them,” Druella said softly, “I would make an ultimatum. Everyone has free choice to do as they please, but choices have consequences. If they went forward, it would be at the loss of any association or inheritance. Including anything from the boy’s parents.”
“Yes.” Viola poked at her soufflé. “I suppose that’s the only thing to be done, if they don’t listen to reason. I can’t imagine it’s even legal. What do you think, Angelique?”
“Send my daughter back to France where her name had not been damaged and curse the godson, I suppose. Rabastan.”
Rabastan slowly drew his spoon from his mouth, and swallowed the chocolate fluff of a bite. “Oui, Maman? I mean. Yes, ma’am?”
“What would you do?”
The boy blinked. He had only half been paying attention to the conversation, and he certainly had not expected to be asked an opinion. “If I were the father of … of Sinead and Titus? Ma’am?”
“Yes.”
“Well.” Rabastan bit his lip in concentration. The obvious solution had been stated, had it not? “Well, I think Mrs. Black has a good plan.” That wouldn’t be enough, though. There didn’t seem to be many other options, unless you were to be drastic and kill them - though that would hardly cause less scandal. To fix something, you had to get at the heart of the problem. “But the problem is that they think they’re in love and refuse to stay quiet, so I’d fix that. Maybe… a charm or potion. Or wipe their memories of it. And then find clever reasons for them to be in different places, and they’ll meet new people, maybe?”
“Maybe! Yes or no?”
“Yes. That is what I would do.”
Viola chuckled, and Druella seemed to consider the convoluted plan as she instinctively fixed a ringlet of her daughter’s hair. Angelique smiled and gave the slightest nod of approval, and then looked back to Viola. “Well, Viola, you must let us know what course Deirdre takes.”
“Oh, I will.” Viola squeaked. “And Angelique? This soufflé is to die for!”
Chapter Number/Title: January 1970: Lunch (35/100) [[ Previous | Next]
Rating: G
Word Count: 2021
Workshop?: Always!
January 16, 1970
Lunch
“Not worried,” Angelique Lestrange clarified, in a tone so hushed that Rabastan strained to hear. “Cautious. Hopeful, but cautious.”
Druella Black nodded, and her blonde curls bounced and glimmered in the bright winter sunlight. “Of course.” Her silvery voice dropped further. “Try two headstrong daughters. I would trade you, to be quite honest.”
Rabastan listened as his mother chuckled audibly. “Oh, Ella, you have done a wonderful job. I would not even know where to start!”
Druella’s voice was barely a murmur. “I don’t know. Andromeda - ”
Her quiet confession was cut short as the flames in the fireplace rose several feet into the air in a dramatic green blaze, and then fell to a simmer as Viola Avery emerged. Rabastan politely set down his teacup and stood as she handed off her coats to an Elf.
As much as he adored Maman, Rabastan was less than thrilled about being forced to sit through luncheons with her witch friends. Sometimes, if Aunt Viola were coming and bringing Darren, they would let the boys have their own boy-luncheon. Those were not so bad. They were good, even. But today, Viola had come bearing bad news: “I am sorry, little Rabbit darling, but Darren’s off with Darius and Evan Rosier for the afternoon.” Rabastan knew what that meant. It meant he would have no allies in the upcoming battle against womanly silliness. Viola, kind as she was, was Chief Enemy Number One in this situation.
Chief Enemy Number Two, Rabastan concluded despite himself, was Druella Black. She was absolute loveliness, and Rabastan was always pleased to see her, but she was also an ace at drawing Maman into the dullest conversations. And to make it worse, Druella did bring Cissy along. Cissy was Chief Enemy Number Three, only so harmless in rank due to her status as a child at the table.
Finally was Maman herself, Chief Enemy Number Four - though, Rabastan reflected, her power to avert the entire affair or send her son off to a more interesting luncheon might earn her a higher rank.
“I just came from the wildest shopping rendezvous,” Viola said, taking a seat. “A glass of whatever our hostess is having,” she added off-hand to the Elf nearby.
“In London?” asked Angelique.
“Quite. I ran into Rosalina, and ap-par-ently, Tristan’s got himself in quite a mess.”
Druella let out a small huff of disbelief. “As if Rosalina has any place to pity Tristan,” she said into her glass.
“Well, even if everyone remembers what happened five years ago, it was five years ago,” said Viola.
“Of course!” Angelique jumped in. “Still, three weeks before the wedding. Such a scandal.”
Viola shrugged. “I cannot say I wouldn’t have done the same myself.”
With a flurry of magic, the space transformed, and the lunching party now made their way to sit around a small square table with a tall luncheon tray and five settings. Rabastan, as he had been taught, stood attentively while the four witches (three and a half, he thought) sat. As the chairs smoothly pulled themselves in, he took his own seat - on the fourth side of the table, doubling with Cissy. This could hardly get worse.
“Nevertheless,” Viola continued, “There’s no bad blood between them. Rosalina preferred Tristan, but he understands that her parents would push her to choose a Flint over a Podmore. Though now he’s finding himself in an unenviable position.”
Rabastan sipped soup from his spoon, and then placed the silver down with the quietest clink. His mother picked up her glass and drank during Viola’s dramatic pause. Druella waited patiently with an arched brow. Cissy had not touched her food, and her brown eyes were open wide, as if they could somehow drink in the information.
“You recall the business with Deirdre?”
“How could we not!” Druella’s hand leapt to her heart in sympathy. “That Scottish boor she married let her think she was barren and let her undergo all manners of treatment, and then divorced her like it was nothing, because she couldn’t give him children.”
“That would be another matter altogether,” noted Angelique, “if he had not known fully that he had been under a curse of childlessness from his former paramour.”
“I suppose so,” said Druella. Rabastan had already forgotten who was being discussed, but her defeated tone made him feel a bit guilty for having lost count. “But he did. Remarried, still was heirless, and then went to find a cursebreaker to help him. Meanwhile, Deirdre bore a daughter not three years later, just as soon as she had stopped the treatments with the Healers!”
“Precisely.” Viola stirred the last of her soup absent-mindedly, clearly thrilled by the tales. “But of course that news came just days after they took in their godson Titus.”
“From a drought to a monsoon,” chimed Angelique, as the soups vanished and sandwiches appeared in their place.
“This is the news.” Viola declared it with a gleam in her eye, and auburn locks fell around her face as she leaned in toward the table. Rabastan took as large of a bite as politeness would allow, and made a wish that the news would signal a new conversation topic. “Deirdre’s been concerned for years now that neither Sinead nor Titus have been interested in courtship and settling down… Well. Only last week, Titus comes to his parents, with Sinead, if it weren’t improper enough, and announces - not asks, but announces - their intention to marry.”
Rabastan coughed, nearly choking on his oversized bite. He looked to the women to verify that he had just heard what he thought. Indeed, Maman’s lips had gone quite thin, as they had when Rabastan had told a particularly unconvincing lie or Rodolphus admitted that Bellatrix had burnt the hems of his robes in dueling practice. Cissy looked delighted, like she had just been gifted with a dozen new dress-gowns. Druella’s eyes showed her shock, and Rabastan could not help but notice their enchanting hazel-brown color, and the dramatic length of the lashes that framed them. Her hand covered her mouth, but he could still make out the astonished “o” of her pink lips. Maybe this visit would be manageable enough, if he just watched Mrs. Black.
“But she’s his sister,” said Druella, breaking the silence and lowering her hand. She shook her head in disbelief. “A cousin, that’s one thing. But a brother should be a brother. I couldn’t imagine being married to Darius.”
Viola laughed - and if Angelique’s laughter sounded like rich bells and Druella’s sounded like the gentle chimes, Viola’s laughter was the bubbling of a brook. “I adore Darius, darling, but I think only one witch could imagine being married to your brother, and she’s gone from this world.”
Druella nodded. “Yes, but you understand. A brother - or cousin, if a woman has no brother - is to support and protect her if her marriage goes awry or she is widowed. You would want that of your own family. Neither of you have daughters, but I could only rest knowing that, should little Cissy here marry a deceiver who waits to reveal his true colors until we pass, Sirius would flatten him in an instant. If you lose that, then what?”
“I would help,” Rabastan offered, before quickly realizing that that definitely qualified as speaking out of turn. “Excuse me,” he said into his sandwich.
Angelique shot him a hint of a glare and immediately softened. “Rabastan, did you have something to add?”
“No, ma’am. I only meant to say that, if Narcissa or her sisters were in trouble, I would help them.”
“I am sure Bellatrix could manage it herself,” said Angelique. Rabastan thought he caught a momentary exchange - a small smirk from his mother and a flash of a rolled eye from Mrs. Black.
“How sweet of you, Rabbit,” said Druella with a smile. “Cissy should be grateful to have such good friends.” Narcissa seemed to be many things at that instant, and “grateful” was not one. Her nose was scrunched as far into her face as a nose could go, and her eyes were narrowed into menacing coin slots. Rabastan thought of retracting his offer, seeing the thanks he was getting - not to mention that as he thought through the situation, it was taking place in a world where Cissy’s evil husband was Sirius, and Rabastan was fairly certain that in that divide, his loyalty was spoken for already. But Mrs. Black had called him sweet for it, and he was not going to throw that away for a hypothetical.
Angelique shook her head. “But what I do not understand, is how does a mother not notice her own children are a romantic item? Godson or not, they live in her house.”
“They did, and then they lived at Hogwarts, and then they went on their Grand Tour,” said Viola. “The romance of the Italian coast must have caught them. I do love Amalfi.”
“Viola, dear,” Druella interjected. “What will Deirdre do?”
“Oh, yes, that’s how I heard. According to Rosalina, Tristan was approached about marrying Sinead. They mean to hide this boggart back under the carpet and find acceptable matches for each of them immediately.”
“Not much of a carpet if Rosalina knows about it,” said Angelique.
“Really!” Druella dusted the sandwich crumbs off her fingers.
“Well,” Viola reasoned, “Sinead and Titus have been quite eager to undermine any hope of keeping it quiet. They’re young, you know, and got it into their heads that any result other than their intended one is a grave injustice.”
“Naturally.” Angelique raised her finger, and Taddy, the attending Elf, replaced the sandwich remains with small chocolate soufflés.
Druella picked up her spoon and beamed at the other women. “Well, of all problems, at least it’s not one any of us will confront.”
“Or let our children get away with!” Angelique added.
“What would you do in her place?” Viola waved her hands. “I can’t even imagine!”
Angelique narrowed her eyes in thought.
“Assuming Cygnus had not already knocked sense into them,” Druella said softly, “I would make an ultimatum. Everyone has free choice to do as they please, but choices have consequences. If they went forward, it would be at the loss of any association or inheritance. Including anything from the boy’s parents.”
“Yes.” Viola poked at her soufflé. “I suppose that’s the only thing to be done, if they don’t listen to reason. I can’t imagine it’s even legal. What do you think, Angelique?”
“Send my daughter back to France where her name had not been damaged and curse the godson, I suppose. Rabastan.”
Rabastan slowly drew his spoon from his mouth, and swallowed the chocolate fluff of a bite. “Oui, Maman? I mean. Yes, ma’am?”
“What would you do?”
The boy blinked. He had only half been paying attention to the conversation, and he certainly had not expected to be asked an opinion. “If I were the father of … of Sinead and Titus? Ma’am?”
“Yes.”
“Well.” Rabastan bit his lip in concentration. The obvious solution had been stated, had it not? “Well, I think Mrs. Black has a good plan.” That wouldn’t be enough, though. There didn’t seem to be many other options, unless you were to be drastic and kill them - though that would hardly cause less scandal. To fix something, you had to get at the heart of the problem. “But the problem is that they think they’re in love and refuse to stay quiet, so I’d fix that. Maybe… a charm or potion. Or wipe their memories of it. And then find clever reasons for them to be in different places, and they’ll meet new people, maybe?”
“Maybe! Yes or no?”
“Yes. That is what I would do.”
Viola chuckled, and Druella seemed to consider the convoluted plan as she instinctively fixed a ringlet of her daughter’s hair. Angelique smiled and gave the slightest nod of approval, and then looked back to Viola. “Well, Viola, you must let us know what course Deirdre takes.”
“Oh, I will.” Viola squeaked. “And Angelique? This soufflé is to die for!”